Awe Chapter One
by PositivelyUncertain
Summary: From Cristina's point of view, because I find her a fascinatingly complex character and I enjoy watching her scenes and trying to work out what is going through her mind at particular times. *There may be more chapers after this if people want them : *


Title: Awe (Chaper One)

Rating: PG- 13

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. Or anything at all,really, except for an overactive imagination and a rather epic cat :)

Summary: From Cristina's point of view, because I find her a fascinatingly complex character and I enjoy watching her scenes and trying to work out what is going through her mind at particular times. *There may be more chapers after this if people want them :)*

A/N: I haven't actually managed to watch any full episodes of TDL since I couldn't find any with English subtitles, so I've only watched the Isabel/Cristina clips. Therefore, there may be some inconsistencies in my fics and it may be slightly out of character. Comments would be greatly appreciated :)

My whole life, I've been seen as a piece of meat, leered at by countless men who think it is their God-given right to do with me whatever they wish. I'm a simple whore, afterall, and can never remember a time when I wasn't treated as such. I've become accustomed (an expert, even) to emotionally closing myself off from the world, viewing people and relationships in a cold and clinical way, carefully assessing how I can manipulate situations to my advantage just so I can keep myself going for another day.

No-one has ever looked at me the way Isabel did that first day we locked eyes with eachother. Of course, I've been looked at by men more times that I care to remember. But not a single one of them ever looked at me the way she did, and continues to do. There was desire present in her eyes, of course. A desire which I've seen in the eyes of men my whole life, but such desire was always overshadowed by a sense of entitlement. They _wanted _me. Or, rather, they wanted to _own _me simply because they could. Simply because I was there and available for them to abuse and demean in any way they wished. But not a single one of them ever viewed me as a woman. No, to them I was worse than an animal, and even treated as one. I'd become used to their clumsy and rough touches, their leering eyes and, all too frequently, their slaps. Afterall, what more can a whore expect?

One thing I'm not used to, and perhaps will never be used to, is being looked at so tenderly by someone who has no expectations and no sense of entitlement. When Isabel first gazed at me in the shower, I was taken aback by the complete look of awe etched across her face and the gentleness so clearly present in her eyes. She looked at me like I was truly beautiful, and in that split second when our eyes met, I actually _felt _beautiful. I couldn't help but laugh slightly to myself as the expression on her face changed to one of embarrassment and confusion, and she bolted out of the brothel as though her life depended on it. It never occured to me that I could have such a profound effect upon someone, let alone another woman who I hadn't even spoken a single word to before.

The thing about being treated as less than human is that it allows you to observe far more than people might realise. I've found, over the years, that people often don't even register my existence unless they're paying for my services. It allows me to observe people at their most vulnerable, to take note of all those slight changes to their facial expressions which they would have tried desperately to conceal had they bothered to notice me. I've become fond of analysing people, and after our brief moment of lingering eye contact, I had an unshakeable feeling that Isabel would perhaps be the most interesting case yet. There was a fire behind her eyes which was, upon first glace, vaguely concealed behind an unmissable and endearing sense of vulnerability. Almost the exact opposite of my own character.

Seeing Isabel at the store gave me the perfect opportunity to observe her from afar, to indulge my sense of intrigue and satisfy my curiosity. Her body language and general demeanor confirmed what I had already suspected: a distinct lack of self confidence and an overwhelming air of unhappiness. Our eyes met once more and I flashed her my token charming smile. A smile which I'd used on so many men before, but which had never possessed such genuine emotion behind it as it did in that moment.

She was definitely rattled, perhaps even scared by my prescence, and it wasn't long before I caught her out of the corner of my eye once again trying to get as far away from me as possible by hurriedly heading towards the exit. Timing it perfectly (and feeling rather pleased with myself for doing so) I managed to ensure our paths crossed before she had the chance to leave, bumping into her and causing her to drop the basket she was carrying. Her angry reaction was shocking, yet not in the slightest bit surprising. I hadn't imagined the fire behind her eyes during our first encounter, and here it was spilling out in such a public space. Our hands touched, and she pulled away as though she had been burned. Had I not been so well rehearsed in concealing my emotions, perhaps I would have done the same. But instead it was she who walked out, leaving me more intrigued that I can ever recall being before.

I had my whole life worked out perfectly until that bastard slapped me, told me I was no longer good at my job and cast me aside like a piece of dirt. I'd made the fatal mistake of stupidly assuming there was some sort of unspoken respect between us. I didn't love him, of course, in the same way that he didn't love me either. We both knew that what we had was nothing more than a bond of convenience which benifited us both and therefore wouldn't be broken. And when he cruelly shattered that bond, he hurt me in a way which I've never let anyone else do my whole life. My desire to hurt him twice as much set in motion a chain of events which would result in me falling hopelessly in love with his daughter, risking both our lives in the process. I promised myself that day that no-one would ever hurt me like that again, and that I would show that bastard what it truly meant to hurt and to have everything you ever believed in ripped apart before your very eyes. Sebastian presented me with the perfect opportunity to do just that, and who was I to reject such a tempting scheme?

I'm not naive enough to expect any loyalty from Sebastian. He simply uses those around him to get exactly what he wants, and therefore he can't be trusted. Maybe we're similar in that aspect, or maybe we're simply both looking for the same thing: Revenge. Having both been hurt by Isabel's father, we saw eachother as an ally. Someone who could be used to extract the revenge which we both deeply craved. When Sebastian and I struck up our plan, I had a niggling sense of guilt in the pit of my stomach. A sense of guilt which I had never really experienced before. When you have to fight for every little scrap, as I have done over the years, you develop a mentality which can almost be likened to a wild animal, doing whatever you can to look after your own interests.

I waited for Isabel with an almost arrogant notion that seducing her would be simple. After all, given my profession, I was certainly used to seducing people. I certainly wasn't expecting her to simply stroll past me, shooting me an almost dismissive glance before carrying on as though I wasn't even there. Irritated and hurt by her silent rejection, and determined to carry out my part of the plan, I followed her a few steps behind until she turned round and finally spoke. I was once again privileged to see the feistyness usually hidden behind the dull clothes and shy demeanor, although I may have been slightly more appreciative had her words not been directed towards me. Her anger, however, soon dissolved as soon as I took her hand and placed it so carefully over my heart. Her expression became almost a mirror image of the one which she wore that first time she looked at me in the shower: complete and utter awe. Such awe didn't last long, however, and she quickly composed herself, a forced look of indifference washing over her face once more.

As Isabel stormed away from me, I became fully aware that she wasn't the only one who had been left flustered by our encounter. I could feel my heart hammering in my chest, reminding me that there are some things which a human simply can't fake. My words may have been carefully constructed as part of my plan, but the effect Isabel had upon me was unavoidable and instinctive. The heart simply functions without thought, without any ulterior motives or knowledge of human flaws. I was left standing alone attempting to comprehend this very thought and trying once again to shake the uneasy feeling from the pit of my stomach.

I knew I was gradually breaking Isabel's resolve, wearing her down bit by bit until her self control was completely diminished. I didn't get where I am today without mastering the precise art of manipulation. But, despite my futile attempts to convince myself that this was purely an act of revenge towards her father, that Isabel was simply a pawn in my scheme, I couldn't quite shake the feeling that my emotions towards her ran far deeper than simple apathy. Maybe because, much like myself, I could sense that there was far more going on in Isabel's mind that most people would care to realise. Or perhaps because I couldn't quite believe that someone so strikingly beautiful could ever look at me as though I was worth something.

My next opportunity to interact with Isabel came not long after our previous encounter. Rescuing her from almost certain arrest provided me with the perfect chance to step up my plan, to get her completely alone and move that little bit closer to getting what I wanted. There was more spontaneity behind that kiss that I would ever admit to myself at the time, and I almost had to remind myself of exactly why I was persuing her so relentlessly. Not because I wanted to, but because I had to. Or so I kept telling myself.

When Isabel nervously entered my room for the second time that day, thanking me for my help and trying desperately to look anywhere but directly at me, I knew instantly that I'd successfully destroyed any self control she may have had left. And as her hands shakilly locked the door to my bedroom, rather than feeling smug about this fact, I was simply left wondering if perhaps Isabel had in turn, without even realising it, destroyed my self control just as much...


End file.
